


Once Upon a Distraction

by Maleficar



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Comfort Sex, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 05:56:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2802026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maleficar/pseuds/Maleficar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Anchor pains her, and Blackwall distracts her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon a Distraction

Evie woke gasping, her left hand on fire. It was like someone had raked their nails across her flesh. Or maybe, more accurately, like someone was slipping a million little needles under her skin until it burned. 

She threw Blackwall’s arm off her body, sitting bolt upright, and he jerked. “My lady?” Though his voice was thick with sleep, he was already reaching for the sword at his side. He always slept with one. 

Clutching her arm to her chest, she curled around her hand and squeezed her eyes shut. It didn’t always hurt like this. In fact, most of the time it barely hurt at all. But most of the rifts were gone, and it seemed like not using it made the thing cramp. Horribly. If you could call the pain crampig. Evie wouldn’t. 

Sickly green light filled the room, warring with the warm embers from the fire. The crackling light cast strange shadows on the wall. Evie closed her eyes against the sight, fighting back memories of demons pouring from rifts. She didn’t want to think about the terrors or the despair demons. She didn’t want to remember the wights. She wanted to sleep again before the sun rose. 

His hand touched her back, between her shoulder blades, a heavy and familiar weight. “It troubles you still,” he said softly. 

She shuddered, gritting her teeth, and said nothing. 

Pulling away from her, he rose from the bed. She watched him, his naked body lit by that vile Fade green. As he went to the cabinet, she hunched protectively around her arm. There, she kept several bottles of wine, one very large bottle of Mackay’s Single Malt, and something Solas left for her. The concoction of elfroot and prophet’s laurel soothed most pains and helped her sleep. It had been his last kindness before vanishing.

Blackwall poured some into a thimble sized cup they kept on hand for these occasions. He brought it to her, and she swallowed the medicine. Barely enough for a mouthful. It would take the edge off, though, and if she was lucky it would help her sleep through the worst of the pain. In the morning, she would wake to a prickly memory.

“Better?” he asked.

Grimacing, she returned the cup to him. He set it aside and settled on the bed next to her, drawing her against his body. She curled against him and he wrapped himself around her, their bodies a protective cage. 

“It will be,” she said softly, her voice wavering.

“We never thought what might happen with no more rifts to close, did we?” 

Pain, sudden and sharp, lanced through her. All the muscles in her hand contracted in a single, sharp jerk that had her crying out softly. Blackwall’s arms tightened around her, drawing her further into the shelter of his embrace. 

“No,” she finally said. “Maybe I’ll have to start opening and closing rifts just to manage it. Maybe when the last rift goes away, it… won’t bother me anymore.” She sighed. “Maybe, maybe, maybe. I detest maybes.” 

One of his hands slipped up her back. Strong, sure fingers pressed against the base of her neck, rubbing gently but firmly, and she moaned softly. Tension seeped out of her as he massaged muscles sorely abused. “I know what might distract you,” he said, his tone playful. 

She shifted in his lap and felt the ridge of his cock against her thigh. One of her brows rose. “For about thirty seconds.”

He laughed, the sound rich and full. “You wound my pride, my lady. But, no, I didn’t mean that.” His lips brushed her ear. “Unless you want that.” His teeth caught the shell of her ear and a gasp caught in her throat. “I could tell you a story,” he murmured, his voice gone husky.

“A story? From the man who measures his words like Fade-touched silverite?”

He scoffed. “My words aren’t so sparse as that.” 

No, they weren’t. Now that there weren’t lies between them, he spoke quiet often. He told her tales of Thom Rainier, of melees and battles, of growing up in the Marches. 

A smile curled her lips. “A story, then,” she agreed.

He cleared his throat as he scooted back in the bed, leaning against the headboard and drawing her with him. She settled against his chest, her body bracketed by his legs, his arms wrapped around her. He was a strong shelter against the world. 

“In ages long past, there was a knight,” he began. “He was a quiet sort and preferred to keep to himself. In fact, most of his time he spent outside of his lord’s castle. In a cabin in the woods.”

Leaning her head against his shoulder, Evie closed her eyes. “And was this knight dark of hair and light of eye?” she asked.

“Er, should he be?” 

Laughing softly, Evie poked at his chest with her right hand. “You need to describe things,” she told him “Paint me a picture with your words. Make it come alive. Like so: In ages long past, there was a noble knight. Though he wasn’t the son of a great lord, he was regal and well-respected, his expertise sought at every turn by his liege and those his liege called allies. His piercing blue eyes could assess a battlefield in moments, his clever mind easily discerning the options of his enemies and—”

“Am I telling this story or are you?” he interrupted, but there was only amusement in his tone.

She huffed and settled against him once more. The burning in her hand was diminishing, but the pain wasn’t gone. It tingled and prickled like a limb that had fallen asleep, and no amount of wriggling her fingers helped. In fact, as he began speaking again and she flexed her fingers experimentally, the sensation of skin stretching over bone actually hurt.

“As I was saying, there was a knight. And he was dark of hair and light of eye.”

“And very dashing. Don’t forget dashing,” she said. “He must be dashing.”

“Very well. He was dashing, too, when he wasn’t brooding.”

She laughed. “Oh, a man who broods!” She tipped her head back and kissed his jaw. He rumbled with pleasure as she purred, “I do love a man who can put on a good brood.”

His hands squeezed her arms. One slipped down her naked side, settling on her belly. She shifted against him and the hard line of his cock pressed against her back. A small lick of fire went through her, and she swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. Maybe she should have taken him up on that offer for sex.

“So our dashing knight,” Blackwall said, “was dashing and lonely.”

“I thought he was brooding, not lonely.”

“All men who brood are secretly lonely,” he said, exasperated. “Are you not going to let me finish this story?”

She shifted against him, rubbing his cock over her skin. Arousal washed over her, and she let out a thoughtful hum. “Maybe,” she replied, her tone lilting and playful.

“Maker’s balls,” he growled, setting both hands on her hips and shifting her away from him.

A wicked smile curled her lips. “So he’s lonely, broody, and dashing,” she said.

“Aye. And one day, while he was teaching a number of local boys how to hunt, something happened.”

“Oh, something? What kind of something?”

“If you’d stop interrupting, my lady, I might be able to tell you.”

She wriggled again, and one of the hands on her hip slipped over her flank, curling over her ass. He sucked in a sharp breath as she turned, draping one arm over his shoulder. Her fingers curled in the hair at the base of his skull. She still kept her left hand tucked protectively against her chest, but the pain was diminishing rapidly in the face of her growing desire. Solas’s potion probably had something to do with it, too. 

In the relative darkness, their faces given strange shadows by the light coming from her hair, she could see his half-lidded eyes, his slightly parted lips. It would be so easy to kiss him. To pull herself up and straddle him. She could have him inside her in seconds, stretching her, filling her, pressing into her until thought became unnecessary and the only thing that mattered in the world was _him_.

Instead, she said, “Tell me, then.” And her voice was a throaty purr.

He cleared his throat. “A pretty young woman approached him, in need of a noble knight to help her in a grand mission,” he said slowly, carefully, his hands resting on the small of her back. His fingers started moving, rubbing firmly against tense muscles, and a little moan escaped her before she could help it.

“What did she look like? Pretty could mean so many things,” she breathed.

One of his hands left her back. He cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing along her cheekbone. “Wide, guileless green eyes,” he said softly, his voice barely a whisper between them. “Set in a round face with the most luscious lips he’d ever seen. When she spoke, all he could think of was seeing those lips around his cock, sucking him deep.”

She smothered a moan, arching against him as his fingers found a knot in her back. Her breasts pressed against the coarse hair of his chest, abrading tender nipples. She didn’t stop that moan. 

“Did she?” she asked.

“Did she what?” 

“Go to her knees and suck his cock?”

“Oh, no, she was too good for that, for him. He knew it. He agreed to help her, but he knew he could never be with her. She was too far above him. An impossible lady.” Blackwall’s fingers curled under her chin, lifting her face as he bent toward her. “But he dreamed of her every night. Woke hard and stroking himself, imagining it was her hand.” She parted her lips, aching for a kiss, but he stopped a hair’s breadth from touching her. “I’m supposed to be telling you a story,” he rumbled.

Slowly, she lowered her left hand. Brushed her knuckles over his cock. She delighted in the smooth slide of his skin against hers, her body answering the caress with a ripple of pleasure that went straight through her cunt. There was pain, true, but not much, and not nearly enough to dissuade her from touching him. She curled her hand around the base of him and stroked upward. “Keep telling me,” she whispered. “Tell me how he touched himself to thoughts of his lady.”

He groaned, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Slow,” he said, voice hoarse. “When he took her, he would have to be gentle. So he tried to keep his touch light.”

“But did he want to?” 

Another groan escaped him as she tightened her grip on him, squeezing as she drew her hand up his length. Her fingers brushed over the head of his cock, smearing precum across his tip. She licked her lips, wanting nothing more than to bend down and lick him, to taste him. Another thrum of pleasure echoed through her, reverberating in her bones. 

“Maker, no. He wanted to take her hard, to slake all his passions on her body.”

“Why didn’t he?” She sped up, pumping him hard and fast. Her rhythm was steady, unfaltering. She knew what he liked, and she used that against him, twisting her hand as she stroked him, her fingers following the line of his veins.

His breath was coming in harsh pants as he stared at her. The way she was pressed against him, he couldn’t see her hand moving, but his eyes never left her face anyway. He was fixed on her. “He didn’t deserve her,” he said, gasping. “Maker, Evie…”

She slid away from him, dropping between his legs. She was wet now. Could feel the slickness between her legs when she moved. Dropping her hand to his balls, she rolled them between her fingers. His head dropped back and he let out a long, low moan. 

The green light from the Anchor flickered once. Twice. Then it faded, leaving them in near darkness. The embers from the hearth did nothing to light the room, and the moon was hidden by a blanket of thick clouds. All she could do was feel the warmth of his body, the smoothness of his skin, the rough rub of the hair that covered every inch of his body. His heavy breathing echoed in her ears like a sweet song. And when he gasped, when he moaned, the sounds shot through her like fire to settle in her cunt.

“The story,” he groaned.

“Mmm.” She bent over him, her braid slipping over her shoulder and falling against his thigh. He jumped beneath her, startled.

“Evie…”

She opened her mouth. Closed it over his cock. Sucked him deep, just like the knight had imagined the lady in the story.

His hand slid into her hair, holding lightly to her. “I was trying to distract you,” he gasped out, his words broken around heaving breaths of air.

Ah, but she was distracted. She was distracted by the taste of him on her tongue, salty and sharp and completely masculine. Relaxing her throat, she took him as far as she could, her tongue laving him as she drew back up. She swirled her tongue around his lip, licking and lapping at the head of his cock until he swore. Until he moaned again. Until he said, “Fuck, Evie. Andraste’s tits, I need to be in you.” 

Those words made her cunt clench, made her body ache with desire. If there was any pain in her at all, it was the pain of emptiness, of lack, of not being filled.

She released his cock with an audible pop, giving him one last lick before climbing onto his lap. Grasping his cock in her fingers, she fed it into her body, lowering herself onto him with a single roll of her hips. He swore again, dragging her mouth to his. He kissed her hard, fiercely, cradling her head to hold her against him, and she moved over him, taking him with swift strokes.

His tongue invaded her mouth, claiming it for his own as his cock drove into her body. Pleasure arched through her, a coruscating wave of it that curled her toes and made her cunt clench around him. She battled him for control of their kiss, swept up in the feel of it, in the fight that would make her own surrender ultimately that much sweeter. 

One of his hands cupped her breast, a rough caress that made her shudder. More. She wanted more.

Pulling away from his kiss, she brushed her lips, wet and slick, over his jaw. Against his ear, she whispered, “Fuck me until I can’t feel anything but you.”

With a wicked oath, he rolled her to the bed beneath him. One of his hands lifted her leg, wrapping it around his hip, and he drove into her with a sudden and brutal force. Beneath him, she arched her back and cried out. She raked the nails of her right hand down his back, flinging her left hand over her head. Those fingers curled in their bed sheets, clutching at the fabric as he pounded into her.

He settled one hand on her hip, bracing her as he took her, his pace brutal and demanding. She met him thrust for thrust, lifting her hips to take him as deeply as possible. Back arching as pleasure burned a savage course through her, she whispered his name, pleaded for more. Ecstasy fogged her brain and clouded her thoughts. It narrowed her world to nothing but the feel of him inside her, rubbing over sensitive flesh, her body aching and coiling tighter with every thrust.

He breathed her name against her neck, shifting his hand from her hip. He slid it between them, his thumb finding her clit. Mercilessly, he teased her, circling her clit without touching it, goading her with the promise of pleasure fulfilled and denying her the completion. 

Sobbing his name, she writhed against him, her body twisting in vain effort to gain the touch she craved so desperately. She was mindless except for the seeking of pleasure. There was nothing else to be gained in the world, nothing else to have, except that moment where pleasure crested and reality shattered.

“Please,” she gasped.

“Anything for you,” he said, the words a vow.

He pressed his thumb against her clit, his caress deft and sure, and she fractured, breaking into a million pieces. But there, in the breaking, was that pristine moment where everything fell away. There was no pleasure, no pain, no sense of self. It was a blissfully empty moment devoid of existence. And then there was nothing but the ecstasy of completion, her body clenching and releasing around his. 

Groaning, he continued to press into her. Every stroke prolonged her pleasure, but now her concern was him. His completion. His delight.

She curled herself around him, wrapping arms and legs about his body until he was pressed tight to her. Her mouth brushed over his ear, her tongue tracing the edge of it. “Come for me,” she murmured, the words a command disguised as a plea. “Come for me. I need you to come for me.”

And, Maker, she craved it. That moment when he lost control, when he broke under the onslaught of pleasure, was the most beautiful sight. 

He groaned softly, shifting her hips, adjusting the angle of his thrusts, and then he took her how he needed to, without a care for her pleasure. And it didn’t matter, not at all, because his pleasure was hers. She clung to him as he rode her, fucking her until he reached that breaking point. He let out a gasp disguised as her name when he came, his body jerking into hers. She felt the hot wash of his seed filling her, and she moaned softly, delighting in it. 

“My love,” she whispered, brushing her fingers over his face, brushing his hair from his eyes. She kissed him, and in that moment when they were wrapped around each other, there was complete and perfect solace.

He rolled off her, pulling her on top of him, and they sprawled across her bed, panting. He laced the fingers of his right hand with those of her left, lifting her hand and kissing her wrist. “And now?” he asked. “Does it bother you now?”

With a satisfied purr, she licked the corner of his lips. “Nothing bothers me now,” she assured him. It was true. There was no lingering ache in her hand, and she was sure that was just as much him as it was Solas.

When he finally caught his breath, he took her into his arms and settled them both on the pillows. He curled around her, cradling her close. He didn’t let go of her hand, and the fact that he accepted this, the strangest and most broken part of her, eased her in a way even their lovemaking couldn’t. 

She did dream that night, but it wasn’t of demons. It was of a blue sky, unmarred by Corypheus’s machinations, and she thought, for just a moment, she saw Solas smiling at her from behind a copse of trees.


End file.
